


sharing a room

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Holmes Family, M/M, Teenlock, i dont even know when this is set, mystrade, the holmes family is so upper class
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 08:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13209633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When he gets into his room, his cases at the bottom of his bed, the groundsman gone, all Mycroft wants to do is sleep - preferably for the rest of time. Unfortunately, such a thing is impossible. Anyway, he shall meet his roommate soon. That will be interesting, he doesn’t doubt.Boarding school AU where Mycroft and Greg are roommates.





	sharing a room

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock story...be gentle, please.

Mycroft watches as Sherlock plays on his Nintendo DS, completely uninterested and unbothered by the fact that his elder brother will be gone until Christmas. Four months, limited phone calls. Not that he and Sherlock ever have gotten on overly-well, or at all really, but he must admit he is a little irritated by his brother’s behaviour. Though Mycroft doesn’t initiate conversation with Sherlock first but that’s only because he knows his little brother’s reaction will be anything but good.

  

His father hands him one of his suitcases. Like the others it has M. Holmes carved on it in gold, contrasting with the brown case. It is heavy with clothes and books more than anything and Mycroft is pleased he does not need to carry them all - _that’s what maids and servants are for_ , his mother had said with an odd smile.

 

“For centuries Holmeses have gone here, Mycroft,” his father tells him, putting a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder, “keep up the good reputation, if you can.” His father speaks easily enough but Mycroft knows that he won’t be so kind if the reputation does slide, even a little, he will have to pay the price.

 

“Of course,” Mycroft says. His father hugs him awkwardly - he doesn’t show affection often and is likely only doing it because of the rather influential, important people who were there - _'Impressions are everything, Mycroft'_ , how many times has he heard that? Holmeses only have the best of the best after all, including their schools. All the important men and women of Britain send their children here. Father had been quite outraged that this year spaces were opened up for those less well off, to make the school a more equal, open place. Mycroft was not really concerned - he doubted he would speak with any of those people anyway.

 

Once his father breaks their awkward embrace his mother stops trying in vain to fix Sherlock’s hair and comes over to hug him too. “Oh, Myc, I shall miss you very much. I would say the house will be quiet but…” they both look to Sherlock who is glaring at whatever game he is playing on his Nintendo DS, “well, you know your brother better than most.” More than you or father, Mycroft thinks bitterly. With his parents being apparently so occupied with their jobs it fell to Mycroft to care for his little brother. Not that Sherlock appreciated it.

 

“Yes,” he agrees, unsure what else to say. “I shall miss you, dad as well...and Sherlock.”

 

His mother just shakes her head, smiling. She brushes some non-existence mess from his blazer, fixing his already straight tie. She is trying to be affectionate, or look so infront of all these people, Mycroft knows. “I know there are rules about phones and only using them once or twice a week but your father and I have made sure you might keep your phone and use it whenever you please.”

 

Mycroft fakes a smile, not that his mother notices. “Thank you, mummy,” he hugs her. Mycroft is already taller than her at fourteen. Better tall than fat, he thinks, the thought coming from his days spent feeling so insecure about himself - he had had a growth spurt though and some of the extra fat had gone, thankfully - and forces himself to act normal. He is about to tell his mother that he will miss her when she turns away from him to grab father’s hand.

 

“Look dear,” she says and starts talking about some important politician and their family. “Sherlock, say your goodbyes while your father and I talk with this man, alright?”

 

Sherlock only grunts in return, sighing when he sees Mycroft looking at him expectantly. “What?”

 

“Surely you can manage to choke out a farewell? Or will your pride be ruined so very much?” Mycroft teases, causing Sherlock to stick his tongue out. “No?”

 

His little brother sighs as though the world is against him. _You are eight years old, only barely, what can the world have done to you yet?_ Mycroft wonders. _Try being the eldest, with all the expectations and worries and pressure._ “Fine, alright...goodbye.”

 

“Was that so hard?” Mycroft asks, but really he is grateful that Sherlock has said it. His eight year old brother’s bored, lazy farewell seems more genuine than his parents.

 

Sherlock glares at him, then turns to where their parents are talking before sighing - yet again. “You’re the lucky one, you know. You get to come here for months and I have to stay at home with them -” he pauses to glare rather dramatically at their parents “- being showed off to all their special guests. You can speak to people and make friends - not that it's likely with you being you _but_ it’s an option - while I’m at the manor with Mrs Hudson being the only good company!”

 

Mycroft just looks at his brother, a small smile on his face, even though he understand the feeling all too well. “Is this your way of saying you shall miss me?”

 

It looks as though Sherlock is going to say something clever with his raised brow and smirk but then he shakes his head a little, as though putting the thought away. “I wish...I wish that you would come back home...with me.”

 

That was as much an ‘ _I love you_ ’ as he would get. Not that Mycroft was any better at affection. “And I shall certainly miss your grunts and sighs. How might I sleep at night without your shouting?”

 

Sherlock smiles at that, a little proud but also...sad. Mycroft wishes to hug his little brother, his lonely, unlucky brother - he glances around quickly, seeing how everyone else seems to be hugging - but he remembers what his father said to him once: ' _Caring is not an advantage_ '. Mycroft finds himself hoping Sherlock grows up to show as much emotion (good and bad) as he does now, to be as loud and open and rebellious as he is already. More than that...he hopes Sherlock cares, even if it is about one single thing.

 

 _That will show mother and father,_ Mycroft thinks, almost smirking as his brother does so often - too often, really.

 

“You’ll find a way,” Sherlock answers with a shrug of his bony shoulders, “you...always do.” A goodbye and a compliment, Mycroft muses, had Christmas come early? Not that they truly celebrate the holiday but still, such kindness was a rare gift in his family.

 

A part of him wants to hug Sherlock but it would be too awkward, too uncomfortable, and no matter how much they might secretly love one another, underneath all the insults and arguments, it would feel too _wrong_. Instead Mycroft puts an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders and tries to smile at him. It isn't very real, mostly for his brother's benefit, but he is sure Sherlock sees right through it.

  

“Behave if you can, brother mine,” he says once he stands straight again.

 

Sherlock’s smirk is back at that, mischief clear in his dark eyes. “I’ll try,” he says it in a voice which strongly implies he has already planned some acts that will surely cause mother and Mrs Hudson some distress.

 

Their father comes back with the school’s headmaster and, just like at home, he puts a strong arm around Mycroft. _He’s going to show me off then_ , is his first thought, his second is of Sherlock and how he will never survive four months of this on his own. Mycroft is used to this though, and he smiles up at his father as though the man is his hero.

 

“I was just telling the headmaster of some of your achievements, Mycroft,” his father says, laughing casually like they spend all their free time together. “How many years have you won the local spelling bee?” This is something his father had been bringing up since Mycroft was about four. He was proud of all his accomplishments, including his advanced spelling and vocabulary, but after his father had shown off all his certificates and medals and trophies that pride had somewhat dwindled.

 

“I went to my first one when I was four and partook in the junior competitions until I was eight, then I competed in the elder children’s category from nine to twelve. Which means I did it for eight years,” Mycroft tells.

 

The headmaster - his name was James Stanley, Mycroft knew - smiled at him, white teeth showing. He was recently divorced, Mycroft deduced, looking at the tan line on his ring finger, the bags under his eyes. Clearly he hasn’t shaved in a little while, no doubt since the divorce, and is used to having a clean shaven face, going by the way he keeps -  seemingly unconsciously - scratching the stubble.

 

Mycroft smiles up at the man as his father would expect. His father carries on from where he left off, “According to the rules you must be eleven to join our local competitions elder category but Mycroft was so advanced they had to make an exception. That happened with most subjects at his primary school. In maths, science and history he is already beginning to study college level, among other classes.”

 

Professor Stanley grins, “I hope the school can keep up with you,” This was clearly a compliment, Mycroft sees, for the school takes only the best and most qualified professors to teach and the fee is...rather high - not that it is a considerable amount for his father, as Mr Holmes so loved to tell everyone - that is until those from lower-middle class and just working class families from the local area were invited. This school wasn’t local to most of the upper class children attending but many parents were like Mycroft’s, in that they didn’t mind travelling across the country for the very best.

  

“Indeed,” Mycroft says, flashing the charming smile his father taught him.

 

“Will your young brother be joining the school in a few years?” The headmaster asks, looking more to Mycroft’s father.

 

“Sherlock is eight now so yes, six years,” father answers, calling Sherlock over. As he stomps over, clearly upset at being interrupted from his DS, his eyes don’t leave the game once. If Mycroft wasn’t in front of their father and his headmaster he would even be impressed at Sherlock’s skill - he did dodge a lot of people and even a car with taking his eyes off his silly game.

 

Headmaster Stanley kneels down so he meets Sherlock’s eyes. Finally his brother puts the game in his pocket and raises his brow at the older man, looking completely bored. Somehow, the man isn’t put off by Sherlock’s utter impoliteness. “How are you, young man?”

 

“Alright,” Sherlock speaks in a bored tone as though he isn’t speaking with one of the best educators in the country.

 

“No doubt your brother will be a politician,” he says, glancing up at Mycroft with a grin before looking back down. “What would you like to be after you have finished all your schooling?”

 

Sherlock looks him in the eye and says, very seriously, “Either a consulting detective or a pirate.”

 

The headmaster nods, seemingly interested. “I don’t believe I have ever heard of a consulting detective?”

 

Perhaps he is good with most children, normal children, but Sherlock is neither of those things. “That’s because I made it up,” he says as though it is most obvious thing in the world.

 

Thankfully the headmaster decides to get up then, shaking both Mycroft’s hand and his parents’. “I hope to see you both in December, to tell you how Mycroft is doing. I am sure his report will be extremely good.”

 

“I am sure too,” his mother says, smiling at the headmaster. Soon enough the teacher leaves and it is time for Mycroft to go into the old but strong (and posh, as Sherlock had said in the car) looking school - though castle might be a better word for it.

 

“I best be off,” he tells his parents awkwardly. His mother hugs him one last time, his father shakes his hand. Sherlock is already in the car by that point but he sticks his head out the window - which will surely earn him a telling off from father later - and nods to him. They have something of an understanding, Mycroft thinks, and though they’ve never spoken about it they both agree that their parents aren’t brilliant at, well, being parents and they put far too much pressure on their sons.

 

Mycroft decides that he shall phone or message Sherlock, even write to him, just to check up on him.

 

“Don’t forget to phone, Myc,” his mother says. How he _despises_ the nickname. He doesn't comment on it though, instead he simply waves to his parents and begins dragging his suitcases - one of the men who worked on the grounds were brought along to help carry his things, despite there being no real need.

 

When he gets into his room, his cases at the bottom of his bed, the groundsman gone, all Mycroft wants to do is sleep - preferably for the rest of time. Unfortunately, such a thing is impossible. Anyway, he shall meet his roommate soon. That will be interesting, he doesn’t doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Sherlock's parents' names haven't been said, in the BBC show or the original canon books but an author, Baring-Gould, wrote a version where their names were Siger and Violet so I thought I should go with that.
> 
> If you're not from the UK, primary school is sort of like elementary and middle school put together. Children usually start primary at 4/5 and leave for high school at 10/11. You can look it up if you want to know more. Also, Greg will be in the next chapter, I promise!
> 
> Here is my tumblr, if you're bothered: [gvlldfish](https://gvlldfish.tumblr.com/). (That tumblr is relatively new because I got tired of my old one...)


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